


tendrils of ivy

by peachsneakers



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Anxiety, Fluff, Gen, Platonic DRLAMP - Freeform, Restaurants, Sympathetic Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Sympathetic Deceit | Janus Sanders, selective mutism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:21:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24351253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachsneakers/pseuds/peachsneakers
Summary: Virgil has a hard time at a restaurant.
Comments: 24
Kudos: 156





	tendrils of ivy

**Author's Note:**

> for anon prompt: "ummm may i have a lil drabble (if you want) where the gang is in a restaurant and when taking their order, virgil orders but the waiter misheard him, and try’s to confirm but virgil’s too shy to correct him? does that make sense? anyway i may be projecting lol"

"You gucci?" 

Virgil looks up at his friend Roman's question, giving him a quick nod as they trail after the others into the restaurant. Inside, the restaurant is crowded and dim, illuminated only by soft amber globes. Remus, Roman's brother, places a comforting hand on his back, guiding him through the entryway.

They're seated by a bored-looking waiter in rumpled shirt and crooked name tag. There are potted plants everywhere, squatting on the wood partitions between booths, and curlicues of green trace complicated patterns across the wood.

"I'll come back in a few minutes to get your orders," the waiter tells them, distributing a handful of menus and promptly vanishing.

"Well then," Janus, seated to Virgil's right, murmurs dryly. He rests yellow gloved hands on the table, idly flipping through one of the menus. Virgil knows he wears gloves to hide patches of psoriasis from other people's judgmental views. When it's just Janus and the rest of his friends, the gloves come off, but on a foray to the outside world like today, Virgil knows he'd rather swim the Thames naked. It's bad enough that he's got a particularly painful patch on one side of his face.

"I know what I want!" Patton says eagerly, leaning against Roman and shoving black-framed glasses up his nose. "Pancakes!"

"Pattoncake, you _always_ want pancakes," Roman points out, giving him a fond look.

"They're good," Patton defends himself. 

"Please, not in front of my salad," Virgil chimes in, deadpan, making Remus and Janus laugh and Logan give him a confused look, murmuring something about how they haven't gotten their food yet, how could it possibly be- 

"It's a meme," he whispers to Logan, who nods slowly, knowing that Virgil will show him later. Logan's not very up to date on memes, but Virgil loves to introduce him to them.

"I don't know what I want," he admits, paralyzed with indecision. He hates going out to restaurants for that very reason, he thinks sourly. It's so damned _hard_ to pick something and half the time, when he's finally decided, his traitorous voice gives up on him and he can no longer speak. At least the others are slowly becoming proficient in ASL and he always carries around both his phone and a spare notepad, just in case.

"That's all right, Virgil," Janus quietly encourages him. "Take your time." Virgil nods, taking a shaky breath. The Philly cheesesteak sandwich on the next page of the brightly colored menu immediately captures his attention and he points at it in relief.

"What would y'all like?" The waiter asks, returning.

"Pancakes!" Patton chirps, and he's off around the table, until it's Virgil's turn.

"And you?" The waiter asks, pen poised over his pad. Virgil swallows.

"The Philly cheesesteak sandwich, please?" He ekes out the request, feeling his cheeks burn. Anxiety tightens his throat.

"The club sandwich, did you say?" The waiter asks, already starting to scribble it down.

"No, I-" Virgil stops, painful shyness squeezing all life out of his voice. _Don't make a scene, it's not a big deal, you can just pick off the toppings you don't like, it's fine, shut up-_

Janus and Logan exchange a decisive look over Virgil's bent head.

"Philly cheesesteak actually," Janus corrects politely. One gloved hand covers Virgil's hand, squeezing gently. Virgil lifts his flushed face, acutely aware of the frustrated tears glittering in his eyes.

"Sure, no problem," the waiter easily says, moving on to Remus, who wants some unholy concoction of breakfast foods that has the others wrinkling their noses.

"You want how many syrups, Remus?" Logan asks, once the waiter has departed again. Remus grins.

"All of them," he says, settling back against the booth and briefly drumming his fingers against the edge of the table until Logan passes him a fidget cube.

"Okay, but you have to eat it all," Roman warns. Remus scoffs.

"You say that like I wouldn't," he says. While he banters with his brother, Virgil turns to Janus.

"Thanks," he says softly. "I- I don't know why I couldn't just correct him-"

"Probably the anxiety," Janus says, making a wry face. "It's okay, Virge. Don't worry about it." Virgil rests his head on Janus's shoulder, lazy contentment spreading through him when Janus throws a casual arm around his shoulders and tugs him closer.

"And you better not put any syrup on my sandwich," Virgil adds, directing his warning to Remus. Remus scrunches up his nose.

"Don't give me any ideas," he says, waggling his eyebrows. Virgil groans.


End file.
